Bottomless Pit

The hardest part of my experience with anorexia did not happen in the middle. In the middle of my eating disorder, I got quite comfortable. I never really felt hungry. It wasn’t hard anymore to say no to the foods I used to love. I had become a master at depriving myself and the deprivation felt safe. I kept strict lists of what was okay to eat and what was off-limits and I NEVER strayed from following the rules I set. My OCD brain loved the “control” I had but in reality, I was a bystander in my own life. Anorexia was in complete control. It had taken the driver’s seat and was steering me down a road that in my mind, looked like the one from the SpongeBob movie. (I added a photo for reference in case you don’t know what I’m talking about.)

I realized that as comforting as my eating disorder was, it was all I had, and I wanted more for my life. Stepping beyond the comfort and into the unknown was terrifying. I vividly remember the first time I decided to break one of my rules. My roommate at the time had recently celebrated her birthday and sitting on our kitchen counter was leftover cake that she had told us was up for grabs. It was a white chocolate raspberry bundt cake. A food that was strictly on the off-limits list. I said to myself that it would be okay if I just had two bites and then promised to stop. That was my so-called action of recovery. What followed however was the actual reality of recovery.

That first bite was euphoric. I know it sounds dramatic but there is seriously no other way to describe it. It had been so long since I had eaten anything like that and it tasted so good. As scary as it was, I could not stop after those promised two bites. I felt my body take over and I just kept eating. My dietician once compared it to drowning. If you surfaced after being stuck underwater for a long period of time, what would you do? Obviously gasp for air. Well, I was gasping for cake, and for the first time, I gave in.

I ate literally so much of that cake and when I finally stopped, I had a panic attack. I sat on the floor of my bathroom sobbing and feeling like I was going to die. I remember being consumed by this intense despair and shame that I didn’t even know was possible. How did I just let that happen? What was wrong with me? Once it finally lessened enough for me to get off the floor, my OCD kicked in and made me go walk around my neighborhood for 4 hours straight to compensate and bring me some feeling of safety again. If that was what was going to happen when I ate then I would not be doing that again.

Writing this now after about 5 months of recovery, I can admit that that experience was not a one-time thing. Once I started eating again I felt like a bottomless pit. My appetite was enormous and it constantly felt like I could just keep eating and eating. I honestly should have taken advantage and entered some sort of contest or something because I’m confident I could have won. Everything tasted like the best meal I had ever had and my body couldn’t get enough. It put me in this terrifying position though because while my body absolutely loved the fuel it was finally receiving, my brain was going crazy. I would constantly find myself stuck in this fight between conditioning and biology. I was conditioned to believe food was the enemy but once given it, my body craved more.

As I have decided to listen to my body, trust my treatment plan, and show myself more love and compassion I have learned to be more okay with an appetite and honoring my hunger. Cravings still really scare me and my fear foods still exist, but I have decided to adopt the mantra of

“My body is smart. I can trust it and the signals that it gives me.”

Recovering and re-nourishing is really hard and sometimes really strange. I have had to just accept that I’m not always going to understand it and everything it entails. I do understand however that I put my poor body through hell for a long time. So, it might take a long time to be totally regular again.

Recovery might take eating way more than everyone else around you and feeling guilty for doing so. It might take days that completely revolve around food and nothing else. It might take weeks of Dairy Queen blizzards and McDonald’s ice cream cones on every drive home from work. It might take fighting with that mean voice in your head until you feel so exhausted you just want to give up. BUT I PROMISE choosing to fight is worth it. Your body is so much greater and so much smarter than the mean voice and it’s deceiving lies

So eat the damn food! :)